


look like the boy too shy

by foolanyfriend



Series: floating in a blue lagoon [1]
Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Merpeople, Alternate Universe - Royalty, Arranged Marriage, Based on a Tumblr Post, F/M, Mermaid!Clarke, Truth or Dare, based off of keywordlydia/flirtingwithtrackers' tumblr post, basically all the characters of the 100 are mermaids it's p self-explanatory, but not really, guardsman!Bellamy, mermaid!Bellamy, mermaid!au, princess!clarke, things that i start as drabbles keep deVELOPING PLOTS
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-10
Updated: 2015-07-10
Packaged: 2018-04-08 12:10:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,474
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4304490
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/foolanyfriend/pseuds/foolanyfriend
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Bellamy, she's not going to <i>bite<i> you,"</i></i> Octavia says, rolling her eyes.</p><p>"Well," Miller smirks, the dark green scales of his tail catching the light as he idly flicks it back and forth, treading water. "You never do know with those royal types."</p>
            </blockquote>





	look like the boy too shy

**Author's Note:**

> so the other night [this](http://foolanyfriend.tumblr.com/post/123584102581/the-100-mermaid-au-keywordlydia-im-weirdly-proud/) happened. now _this_ has happened. the 100 and mermaids, what can i say?
> 
> i wrote this in like 4 hours, and it's unbetaed, so apol for any errors
> 
> title is, of course, from "Kiss the Girl," from the Little Mermaid. enjoy! :)

"Bellamy, she's not going to  _bite_ you," Octavia says, rolling her eyes.

"Well," Miller smirks, the dark green scales of his tail catching the light as he idly flicks it back and forth, treading water. "You never do know with those royal types."

"Shut up, both of you," Bellamy growls, glaring at his sister and best friend. "I'm not doing it; I'm not risking my job for some stupid game of truth or dare."

Octavia tips her head back and laughs, the flowing mass of her hair twisting about her face in the current. "Calm down, Bell. Last I checked, senior members of the Royal Guard don't get fired for playing innocent party games."

"Maybe if those games aren't _assaulting_ the princess!" Bellamy explodes, brandishing the trident all members of the Royal Guard must carry. His tail, the fin still ragged and recovering from a nasty run in with an Orca hell-bent on merpeople blood, sways agitatedly, like the pictures of the mammals - cats, they're called, above land - he's seen in books.

"It wouldn't be assault, Bell," Octavia chastises, her webbed fingers reaching out to push the trident away. "Not if she kissed you back. And watch where you point that thing, I don't want to lose an eye."

Bellamy scowls. His sister is still young, still not seamlessly integrated into life at Court. Not that she's expected to be - in fact, Octavia shouldn't even exist, by all logic. Born to a mermaid mother but land-walking father, she's a genetic abnormality, shown in the webbed fingers and legs that no other merperson has.

Not that being different has meant that she's anything less of his sister; Bellamy loves her just as much as he would if they shared both parents. Their differences are what makes their relationship stronger, and their sibling bond is even more so due to the fact that reproduction between merpeople is extremely rare.

Bellamy has the theory that that's why the princess has such a heavy guard. She's the only heir to the throne of Arcadia, and since the death of King Jacob her mother, Queen Dowager Abby, has ruled in her stead, and will until the princess reaches Arcadia's age of majority: twenty-one.

"Octavia, what you're talking about isn't a simple game," Bellamy sighs. "I'm entrusted by her Majesty to ensure the princess' safety, I can't go around kissing her."

 _"Never mind that she's far too good for you,"_ he thinks to himself. The princess is everything good about the Mermish nobility, in Bellamy's humble opinion. He should know, he spends most of his time with her.

"Speaking of the princess," he says, hauling himself off of the coral wall he's been sitting on for the duration of his break and glancing towards the nearest sundial, wincing when he catches sight of the time. "My break's practically over, I need to get back to the palace."

 _"I cannot believe I spent my last break for hours playing truth or dare with my seventeen year old sister,"_ Bellamy thinks, kicking off and starting towards the castle with a backwards wave towards Miller and Octavia, the strong kicks of his tail creating a reverberating wall of water around him. _"You're twenty-three, Blake, start to act like it."_

In all honesty, the game had been a good way to pass the time - fun, even - until the truths got invasive and the dares outrageous. When a giggly Octavia had been forced to reveal her crush on the senior footman, Lincoln, (a merman with a shark's tail of red and black), Bellamy had shrugged, passing it off as a harmless flirtation. He'd even been brought to helpless laughter when Miller had been dared to ask Monty, the kindest kitchen help, if he'd like to go check out the coral reef with him. Miller had been flushed bright red with embarrassment, his gills flapping self-consciously and his tail moving constantly. Still, when Monty had shyly agreed he had grinned victoriously, flashing a smile over his shoulder at the Blake siblings before leaning forward to brush a soft kiss on Monty's cheek.

Bellamy hadn't even had a problem when the truths were uncomfortably personal, divulging how he suspected the Admiral of the Navy was more than just a friend to the queen, when asked if he had any gossip about the inner workings of the palace. He didn't flinch when he told Octavia and Miller about his biggest regret: not pursuing a career as a teacher, preserving the myths of merpeople and passing them down to the newer generations. It was only when he was dared to do the impossible, to kiss the princess, that Bellamy called it quits.

Passing the intricately carved inner walls of the main hall in the palace, Bellamy nods to other passing workers; Kyle Wick, the apprentice blacksmith, is the only one to nod back. Wick's also currently attempting to court the princess' lady-in-waiting, Raven. Bellamy isn't sure how much success the other man is having, given that Raven seems to spend the majority of their time together laughing at him. Still, Raven doesn't laugh very much any more, not after her betrothed was killed in an Orca attack the previous year, so perhaps he's making progress.

Wick pauses, pulling up abruptly and calling after Bellamy, who stops and flips around, using the heft of the water surrounding him to give him the momentum to spin. The other man has his typical grin plastered across his face, but there's a light in his eyes that makes Bellamy think he's been spending some time with Raven recently.

"Hey, Blake!" Wick exclaims, gliding down the corridor towards him. "If you're going to the East Wing, I'd watch my back. The princess is in a foul mood, apparently."

Bellamy sighs, scrubbing the hand not gripping his trident over his jaw. As much as he enjoys spending time with the princess, truly likes his job as her protector, when she gets in one her moods - usually caused by spending time with the queen - she's a nightmare to deal with, Poseidon knows.

"How would you know, Wick?" He asks, surveying the other man and briefly catching sight of a smudge of red lip colour on the blacksmith's neck, before Wick shifts and his collar moves to obscure his skin.

"Well, I was spending time with the lovely Lady Reyes before we were interrupted by her Royal Highness. Apparently, she has a _very_ low opinion of the suitors selected for her," Wick grins, throwing Bellamy a wink when he notices the other man's gaze drop to his neck again, and not making the slightest move to cover up the lipstick mark. "Gotta go now though, Blake, I'm needed in the Armoury. Good luck and Godspeed, my good sir!"

Bellamy huffs out a laugh at the other man's ridiculous antics, shaking his head to himself. _"Spending time with Raven, right."_

When he reaches the East Wing, where the princess has her suite, he realises that Wick was right. The princess' door is shut, and Murphy, the guard who stands watch outside her door when Bellamy has breaks, is nowhere to be seen. There's a forlorn-looking vase lying toppled, chipped and with its contents of colourful underwater ferns strewn across the hard rock of the palace floor.

Bellamy curses under his breath and moves cautiously towards the princess' door, gently lifting the seashell door knocker painstakingly decorated by the princess herself, albeit when she was much younger. He knocks it against the door carefully, watching as bubbles are created in the aftermath of his movements.

"Who is it?" calls a voice. It's feminine, but not the princess'. _"Raven, then,"_ Bellamy decides, and calls back his answer, raising his voice more than he ordinarily would.

"It's Sir Blake, Milady," he says. "I'm to guard Her Royal Highness, it's my usual shift."

If there's one thing he dislikes about the work in the palace, it's the relentless bowing-and-scraping. He knows Raven well, has eaten meals with her, shared drinks with her - even shared her bed once before, although it would be unseemly to mention it. But due to the fact that they're in the presence of royalty, he is required to be as formal as possible; even though Bellamy _knows_ that the princess dislikes titles.

The door swings open a crack to reveal Raven on the other side, her deep red fins flickering so fast they seem to blur out of focus. She still wears the necklace that her dead betrothed gave her upon their engagement, and Bellamy idly wonders how Wick feels about that, if the shadow of Raven's lost love hangs over their every rendezvous.

"Thank Poseidon you're here," she whispers, glancing over her shoulder back into the princess' bedroom. "The princess is bad, Her Majesty gave her some news earlier."

"My name is Clarke, Raven," comes another voice, out of sight of Bellamy but unmistakeably belonging to the princess. "Not 'the princess,' and not 'Her Royal Highness.' I'm a person, and people have names."

Raven rolls her eyes almost unnoticeably before leaning in closer to Bellamy. "The meeting with her mother didn't go well; the queen wants her to marry by her nineteenth birthday," she whispers.

"But that's three months away," Bellamy mutters back. "How is she expected to select a suitor and be courted in a respectable amount of time?"

"She isn't," Raven said, her mouth folded into a grim line. "That's the worst part. The pri- Clarke has a month to find her own suitor, but if she doesn't the queen will pick for her."

"Shit."

Raven nods in reply. "There aren't many eligible heirs or heiresses left, either. Clarke entertained the possibility of Queen Lexa, of TonDC, but she's just announced her betrothal to that commoner, Costia."

Bellamy knows, remembers the reverberations and riots caused in TonDC by their leader's announcement that she was to take a commoner as a wife, and shudders. He wonders what would happen if something like that happened in Arcadia, if the princess picked a consort of a much lower status than herself. Surely their kingdom would not react so venomously; after all, the princess' own grandmother married a knight.

"This is bad," he says gravely, and to her credit, Raven doesn't roll her eyes at his obvious statement.

"I kno-" she begins, but gets cut off by the voice of the princess, once again calling out.

"Please come out from behind that door, Bellamy," she says, and Raven opens the door wider so that he can do as bid, gliding past the lady in waiting with an idle flap of his tail to hover just inside the doorway of the princess' bedroom. It would be improper, he knows, to go any closer when they are without a respectable chaperone, although his heart aches when he first sees her, the princess' eyes red from tears and her customary tiara knocked askew. She simply looks in need of a hug, and Bellamy wants to be the one to provide her comfort, wants it like he's never wanted anything else.

"You'll have heard the news, I expect," she says with a watery smile, and Bellamy simply nods in response, unsure of what to say. The princess looks staggeringly different from when he last saw her, just an hour ago, and the contrast from her normally impeccably polished appearance is drastic.

"Milady, I'm sorry," he blurts out. Ordinarily he wouldn't presume to be so familiar with her (and indeed, he's fought countless battles with the princess regarding her terms of address, with he staunchly arguing that the use of titles befits the princess' rank and are used as a sign of respect, and she arguing the opposite, that they're patronising and isolate the Royal Family from their subjects), but she looks heartbroken. The princess never shows her emotions, her upbringing as a noble lady ensuring that, and so this display of complete desolation has Bellamy unsure of where he should stand.

"Please, Bellamy. Call me Clarke," The princ- _Clarke_ asks, and she sounds so defeated that Bellamy concedes instantly. He takes this opportunity to float further into the room; propriety be damned, and motions for Raven to close the door.

She does so, but leaves the room as well, leaving Bellamy and Clarke alone. He swallows, the knowledge that if someone were to burst in, they'd assume the worst - even though he and Clarke occupy different sections of the room, he hovering somewhere in the middle and Clarke lying atop her mattress aimlessly, flapping her tail every so often in order to keep her horizontal.

"Come closer," Clarke beckons with a crook of her finger, sitting up so she's no longer floating above her mattress on her back, instead sitting as if on an invisible throne, with her icy-blue tail stretched out in front of her.

Bellamy leans the heavy weight of his trident against the wall before he moves, twisting his wrist absent-mindedly to relieve the strain caused by hauling around a mass of water-saturated wood and silver all day every day.

Once he's rid himself of his weapon, he kicks his tail once and lets the water guide him towards the princess, coming to a slow stop on her left side and assuming a similar position, only nearer to both the door and the large, open window, so that in the (unlikely) event of an attack, he's in a better position to protect his ward.

"You want to talk about it?" Bellamy offers, and gives himself a mental pat on the back for remembering not to use a title when addressing Clarke. He reminds himself that she isn't that much older than Octavia, just a young girl still not considered an adult under Arcadian law, even though she stands to inherit the whole kingdom.

"I don't think so," Clarke sighs, and reaches up to adjust her wayward tiara, her deft fingers weaving in and out her complicated crown of braids. Bellamy nearly reaches out to help her, but she manages to place the tiara in an approximation of the original style before he's able to.

"I'm just angry," she continues, and their gazes connect. "Mother isn't old; it's ridiculous that she wants me to marry so soon. There's about as much chance of her dying before I have an heir as there is all of us suddenly developing legs like the land-walkers."

Bellamy snorts at that, and at Clarke's confused look he elaborates. "My sister - half-sister, really; her name's Octavia, she's about your age - has legs. Her father was a land-walker, though, it's not like she was cursed or anything."

Clarke sits up even straighter at that, her eyes bright with enthusiasm. "That's so interesting!" she cries, her hands clasped together earnestly. Bellamy finds her childlike-joy and the abrupt change in her mood far too adorable, her ecstatic grin triggering one of his own, and he has to give himself a strong talking to along the lines of: _"She's the heir to the throne. She's eighteen years old. She'll be married in four months. She's so far out of your league that it isn't even funny, come on Blake getittogether."_

"I'm surprised you've not heard of her before," he says. "She started work with the seamstresses earlier this month, and apparently caused a bit of a stir, with the aforementioned legs."

"I'll need to investigate, obviously," Clarke smiles mischievously. "I could always do with more friends around here; I love you and Raven both but it can get horribly dull, only seeing the same two faces."

"You think we're friends?" Bellamy asks, surprised. When he sees the princess' face drop, he scrambles to correct himself. "Not that I don't, I really do - very much in fact - I just thought with me being your guard you wouldn't consider-"

"Just keep digging, Bellamy," Clarke laughs. She smiles, soft and sweet, and glances up at him from under her lashes. "Do you have many friends?" She asks, and the innocence hurts him a little. He knows she doesn't get out much, doesn't see people that aren't either servants or diplomats very often, but the realisation that he and Raven are the only people she considers herself close to makes him at once pity her and want to drown her in affection.

"Um, I guess," Bellamy stammers in reply. . "There's Miller - Sir Nathan Miller, I suppose - he's on the Guard as well. Octavia, of course. You. Raven. Wick. A couple others, some of the junior guards. I'm closest to O and Miller though, we usually spend our breaks together."

"What do you do?" Clarke asks him, tilting her head and giving him what Bellamy imagines are her best pleading eyes. It's almost too easy to ignore the faint annoyance caused by her inquisition, especially when she's looking at him like that, all open and honest.

He rubs the back of his neck and laughs self-consciously, hoping his gills haven't blushed red in the way that they often do when he's embarrassed. "Once we've eaten there isn't always time to do a lot of stuff? So we'll play stupid party games; you know - Never Have I Ever, Truth or Dare. We played Truth or Dare today, actually."

"Did you? What were some of the questions? Ooh, or the dares, you all seem like the type to give good dares."

"It was pretty standard, Princess," Bellamy replies. "Sorry to disappoint. Stuff like _'go scream something ridiculous in the Grand Ballroom,'_ or _'I dare you to replace Jasper's fin-cleaning ointment with mud.'_ Pretty tame as well, there's only so much you can do at work."

The side of Clarke's mouth twists in disappointment, and Bellamy yet again feels that surge of pity mixed in with affection for this ridiculous girl, with so much love stuffed inside of her but no one to give it to. He's guarded Clarke for a long time, known of her even longer, but he's never felt closer to Arcadia's princess than he does now, something a little less than love but a whole lot more than friendship threatening to swallow him whole.

The fact that he's been the sole person in the palace able to lift her mood is no small ego boost, and he doesn't want all his hard work to be undone, so he sets to thinking of something else that could improve her mood. _"It's normal experiences_ _that she craves,"_  Bellamy realises. _"This firecracker of a girl just wants to be normal for once in her life."_

He can't think of anything much more quintessentially teenage than what he's about to suggest - he just has to hope that Clarke doesn't have him fired for it. Somehow, though, he thinks he'll be safe, the smiles she gives him any time he makes a remark and the way she glances at him when she thinks he isn't looking helping to boost his confidence just enough to take a leap of faith.

"There was one dare that was pretty extreme," Bellamy says, forcing nonchalance and mentally begging his tail to stay still. Right now would be the worst time to have his emotions broadcast; the sharp layer of fear hovering underneath his bravado, and the pull of attraction towards the princess the strongest thing he's felt in a long time.

"Oh yeah?" Clarke asks, and Bellamy doesn't imagine the slow, slick slide of her tail against his, the way that he's suddenly hyper aware of her every breath and movement.

"Yeah," he breathes, and his voice is shaky. He leans in closer to Clarke, still far away enough that they aren't touching except for their tails, but even that small point of contact sends a frizzle of energy straight up his spine.

"Octavia," Bellamy continues, his voice lowered. "Octavia dared me to kiss you."

Clarke's eyes flutter shut momentarily, before reopening and almost immediately focusing in on Bellamy's mouth. He can't blame her, if he's being honest, his gaze fixed on the drag of her plump bottom lip where it's caught between her teeth.

They stare at each other without words for a moment, the room quiet apart from their hushed breathing, and Bellamy has never been more aware of the fact that someone could come in at any moment- if he was worried about being seen as improper before, that's nothing compared to the position he and Clarke are in now, their tails practically tangled together and the air that they breathe mingling.

"Well?" Clarke whispers, finally breaking the silence after what feels like an eternity. She smiles shyly, and Bellamy's heart feels fit to burst. "Are you going to kiss me or what?"

He grins, surging in closer, and when he slides a hand into the coil of hair at the base of Clarke's neck, leans in and kisses her soft and slow, he swears he feels his heart stop beating.

 

**Author's Note:**

> thanks for reading! :) come talk about bellarke and mermaids with me on [tumblr](http://foolanyfriend.tumblr.com/) :))


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